“And it was.”
“It’s a complete mess now, with the builders in.”
“Not for long,” she said. “I saw it the other day and was told it’s nearly ready.”
Ah; the light dawned. She’d gone by to see what disaster he’d wrought upon the house, no doubt expecting to see it in ruins. But instead she’d seen how he was restoring it—and not just restoring, but vastly improving it—and her views had changed. Very rightly so, in Tristan’s opinion. The househadbeen old-fashioned and cramped, even aside from the neglect and decay it had suffered. Since the roof had collapsed and the whole house was uninhabitable, he had taken the opportunity to enlarge the doorways, raise the ceilings of the upper floors, and rebuild the staircase. In addition, every modern advance he admired was going to be part of his new house, from an innovative steam heating system to piping for baths and water closets on all floors. Far from being outmoded, the house would soon be one of the most modern in London. The improvements must have been just as obvious to Mary. No doubt she also wanted it on the same terms as before: free of charge.
Ruffling one hand through his hair, Tristan finally took the other chair. “Forgive me if I fail to understand. When my uncle died, I bowed to your concerns that it would be cruel and unjust to drive my cousins from their home, and left possession of the house to you and them for eight years. This spring you came to tell me in no uncertain terms that it was no longer suitable, and you were quitting it for a vastly better house in Charles Street. I gave up my other quarters in expectation of taking residence in Hanover Square. Now you say you are dissatisfied with Charles Street, and wish to return to Hanover Square? What, pray, about either house has changed?”
Her posture seemed, if possible, to grow stiffer. “The house in Charles Street is too dark. I was misled about its chimneys. And the neighborhood is not as much to my liking.”
“You’re a widow in possession of an independent annuity,” he pointed out. “Take another house.”
“It’s too late in the season to find another decent property!”
“Aye, so it is. After I gave up my previous quarters, I had little choice but to impose upon friends when the Hanover house became impossible to live in—as you find me here today.” He waved one hand around Bennet’s spartan sitting room, which had hosted more card parties and boxing matches than anything else. There might even be sword cuts in the woodwork.
“But the Hanover Square house is still free. It is entirely within your province to give it.”
“Or to keep it and live in it myself.”
Mary’s lips were white. “I would like to retake possession of the house,” she said baldly. “As soon as it may be ready.”
Tristan crossed one booted foot over his knee. “The prospect of living there has grown appealing to me as well.”
“We have all missed it sorely.”
“Indeed? With the leaking roof and smoky chimneys and the scullery that flooded in every heavy rain?”
“The builder assured me those problems were addressed.”
“At my considerable expense,” he remarked. “At my instigation. And I wonder why you took such an interest in a house you quitted, of your own wish, that you went and queried my employees as if you had any right to know what they’ve done since you left.”
Color rushed into her face. “Will you or won’t you allow me to return my daughters to their home?” she all but spat.
“No,” he said politely. “I’m rebuilding the house to suit my tastes. And to be precise, it’s my house; it has been for the last eight years. I allowed you to stay out of deference to your daughters, but I will have nowhere to live if I give you that house again.”
Her mouth puckered up in frustration. “You can afford to take any house in London. I cannot!”
He grinned. The Burke family fortune was respectable, and his uncle had managed it capably. Aunt Mary had been left a comfortable annuity as part of her dower, and Alice and Catherine, his cousins, had each been left a marriage portion of good size. By no accounting were they destitute or poor.
But Tristan’s father, like a dutiful second son, had married an heiress, the only child of a decorated admiral who left his enormous fortune to her. Upon his parents’ deaths, Tristan had become far, far wealthier than his titled uncle, and it had chafed Aunt Mary to no end. Not only was that loud, troublesome, dirty boy the heir to the Burke estates and title, but those were the lesser part of his inheritance. Now, to her great resentment, he had it all, while she was pensioned off on a widow’s portion, which—however comfortable—was fixed and limited. No doubt her visit today was spurred by the pinch of paying her own rent for the first time.
“What do you really want, madam?” he asked, ready to be rid of her. “Do you want me to pay the Charles Street lease? Will a new carriage soothe your upset? Does one of my cousins require a new Court dress? I intend to keep the house in Hanover Square, so you can cease asking for that.”
Her throat worked for a few moments. “The rent is a greater encumbrance than I had anticipated,” she said through tight lips. “That would be most generous of you.”
“Very good.” He jumped to his feet. “Send a copy of the lease to Tompkins, and I’ll direct him to pay it for the duration of this season.”
“And coal is very dear,” she went on.
He nodded. “I’ll pay the coal man.”
“And there are a few overdue bills.” Her face was dull red now, and she stared fixedly at a spot beyond Tristan’s shoulder. “From the modiste. And the milliner. And—and the butcher.”
He cocked his head. “So many? Perhaps I should speak to your man of business; is he not managing your funds properly? Your annuity should be sufficient to keep you in good comfort, Aunt.”
“It isn’t,” she hissed, shooting him a hateful look.
